Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

Hope Without Windows or Doors

My mind is racing, but doesn’t
land on a gem. My hands rest on
the keyboard; my finger taps
the F key and waits.

What do you say when you have
nothing to say? How do you wait
when you don’t know what you are
waiting for?

Coming or going are the same in
a room without windows or doors.
I feel like I’m driving through
Kansas at nightfall with no
turns, no end in sight.

You remind yourself that hope
is just ahead. But what is hope?

I look up. I hold my finger up
and close one eye to test the
clouds in the sky. They don’t
seem to be moving.

Is hope a hot air balloon racing
the setting sun? Sometimes it
dazzles me just hanging high
in the air.

Sometimes it seems to duck behind
a mountain. Floats too high. Or
looks so low, I could touch it.
Then, it is gone.

No, hope must be more than that
or it wouldn’t be called hope.

I pause to think and start
tapping the J key. I can see hot
air balloons at sunset from where
I sit. More than five. No, eight!

Hope is like a balloon that passed
by my window; I can’t see it but it
is still out there.

Said another way, hope is what I
can see from my room without
windows or doors.

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